


the arms of the ocean

by Ambyrfire



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: I'm sorry Slaine, M/M, Post-Canon, Slaine probably has some kind of psychosis here, inspired in part by the work of MountainMew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:32:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambyrfire/pseuds/Ambyrfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He remembered waves closing over his head, like a dream you wish you could wake up from.</i><br/> <br/>Slaine is lost; the surface of Earth is 71% water. Yet, the body is 60% water, and every human being holds an ocean within them. </p><p>Shooting stars fade. </p><p>And roses bloom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the arms of the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening: [Never Let Me Go](https://youtu.be/zMBTvuUlm98) by Florence + The Machine.

_Looking up from underneath_  
_Fractured moonlight on the sea_  
_Reflections still look the same to me_  
_As before I went under_

  
_And it's peaceful in the deep_  
_Cathedral where you cannot breathe_  
_No need to pray, no need to speak_  
_Now I am under_

 

* * *

 

 

The ground beneath his feet was cold, and hard. Cold, grey; walls and concrete and breathing in dead air. It was like sleepwalking; it was like sinking.

 

It was a dream– the kind of dream you don’t wake up from, the kind you don’t remember the next day when you open your eyes. You merely feel the empty space of lack where there should have been something.

 

The emptiness was to stand in a silent cathedral, so he stood still and tilted his head back and stared at the far-away ceiling and the pictures painted there.

 

 

“What are you thinking of?”

 

 

It looked so distant, so blue.

 

Like a dream you have to wake up from.

 

One you forget the next morning.

 

~~~ 

 

Grey, grey, grey– it absorbed him and he let it take him under. He sank in it, cold and numb yet perhaps alive. The light was bright, reflections of noonday sun on water and golden hair splayed over delicate shoulders. Smiles, and miracles. Like holding on, and letting go.

 

He remembered waves closing over his head, like a dream you wish you could wake up from. Pain, like an ocean of red, fighting and failing and falling.

 

The kind of light that made him want to scream, chess pieces on the floor and sharp agony like broken bones and blood on his hands. The pieces didn’t fit and that was wrong, but wrong was a word with a flavor he didn’t like so he swallowed it down and tasted dust and concrete.

 

The truth was they were all being flung around the galaxy at an unimaginable pace, so he laid there and let the motion carry him.

 

It was blue and red, like roses, like bruises. Night falling and the light dying again and again and again. The waves washed over him, and he closed his eyes.

 

~~~ 

 

The water was calm, and he remembered it. Salty as blood on the lips.

 

 

“Do you remember what it was like, before the war?”

 

 

 _Tell me you remember._ He almost said to the voice. _Tell me the world isn’t lost. Tell me the water is warm; tell me I can breathe again. Tell me I am growing, my roots in the Earth and my eyes full of stars._

 

The kisses tasted of lies. But he was an excellent liar.

 

Blue as night falling, red blood and bruises growing old under the skin and fading like memories. Water, salty as blood and tears.

 

The tears were for a child– a child who had died. There was no body, because the body had kept living. It wasn’t anything to remark upon; stranger things had happened. The body was in the ocean now, breathing tears and salt water.

 

A beating heart against a beating heart, like metal scraping against metal: weren’t they strange, what a show was this? Beating hearts made of scrap metal. Scorched and burned and torn apart. A spectacle in a museum: look, see the remnants of war. Aren’t they horrible?

 

~~~

 

Sins like beads on a string, like links on a chain, a chain around his neck dragging him back. Just enough rope to hang himself with?

 

Maybe, maybe, if there were enough links…

 

Counting them, like counting teardrop stars shed against the darkness. Each one brushed away by fingertips, steady and warm as ocean currents.

 

He remembered the taste of strawberry jam and sunny late mornings. He remembered bird wings silhouetted against the sky, blue and white and black. He remembered blood and breathing; easy things.

 

Before he went under.

 

The arms of the ocean were warm. Dark and blue, sleep under a red sky on the soft grass. Air rushed into his lungs with every brush of lips. It tasted of salt, tears and blood and ocean breezes.

 

And the Earth turned beneath him and they were one and one, so that must mean they made two, right? Two, too old to die and too young to remember.

 

Two hands, hand and hand and hand-in-hand, touch like memory and kisses that tasted of lies but were oh so true and… he felt as though he were holding on.

 

Holding on to something, someone: warm red, dark hair, steady hands.

 

The sun glanced bright and aching off of the water, and what it filled him with was so brilliant he could not speak. Hand in hand: they were a wonder and an agony and an eternity. Time passing like rain on a windowpane, like waves washing ashore and carrying the broken flotsam to rest on the soft sand.

 

Soft sand beneath his bare feet, sticking to his skin in a gritty sheen. Two sets of footprints unrolled behind every step. Steps, to the rhythm of two heartbeats beating as one.

 

 

“Slaine, do you hear the waves?”

 

 

Waves, rolling softly over warm sand like blankets pulled up a bed, tucked in and calm with the water enveloping him. Waves that beat in his chest like a tide, drawing him under. He let it take him.

 

It was bright blue, like tears and sun and memory, yellow and black and white like the little birds that battled for the seeds scattered on the path, red like earth and dawn light and roses. Blooming in the sun, damaged and ragged and missing pieces but with their roots growing deep in the ground and little stars of dew on their petals.

 

“Yes. Yes, I can hear them. They’re right here.”

 

* * *

 

 

_And the crashes are heaven for a sinner released,_

_But the arms of the ocean delivered me._

_Never let me go,_

_Never let me go._

**Author's Note:**

> Beginning and end quotes are from the Florence and the Machine song [Never Let Me Go](https://youtu.be/zMBTvuUlm98) the song which fueled the writing of this oneshot when I discovered it.
> 
> This was also inspired by the work of MountainMew, whose evocatively fragmented and psychological style I very much enjoy!
> 
> My midterms are finally over, so I finally had time to clean this up and post it (it was all rough-drafted in one night, might be a writing record for me!) That also means… expect other fic updates (Blood From A Stone, Garden of Roses) soon! I've been itching to write, and now I have the chance to!


End file.
